Finding Hope
by the singing little bird
Summary: Sansa finally manages to escape the clutches of the Lannisters, a family of huge legal power in King's Landing, and finds herself in a small town near Clegane Keep. On her way to find peace from her tormentors, she meets the owner of Clegane Steel, Sandor. Modern day AU. SanSan and little bit of Bronnaery. Other information: Sansa is 20; Joffrey is 21; Sandor is 30
1. Chapter 1

**Paragraphs with a star at the start have descriptions of violence in. Skip if you don't want to read that.**

Sansa had been trapped in the Red Keep for years, the residence of the dignified Lannisters. In those years, she had dreamed of escape. Though it was easier said than done. Guards stopped her at every corner in her various attempts, and this had only meant more beatings from her 'beloved' Joffrey.

*White slivers of scars covered her back now, where she had been whipped as a punishment for her betrayal. The betrayal, of course, being her desperate yet vain attempts to leave her tormentors. There had been eyes full of pity and sorrow as they watched her writhe in pain as she tried to struggle from his bodyguards' hands, though they were all too strong. Those eyes did nothing but watch her. Nobody stopped him, too afraid of their own fate if they stepped in to help her. Not even his own mother, Cersei, whom she had once held respect for. She had idolized her. That was all gone now.

*Joffrey sat at the high table in the Lannister ballroom as he watched the whips slice through the pale skin, a smug grin permanently fixed to his worm-like lips. Once she had found him attractive, she thought once through the searing pain across her back. But that was long ago. Before her father's mysterious disappearance, followed by her sisters, and then her two younger brothers. In the next year her mother and brother were killed in a car accident, or so they said. It was no accident in her mind.

But now she had conceived a plan. It had taken her the past six months to think it through, to plan the movements of his guards, to find the security cameras that watched her every move. She had even made some allies. And tonight was the night she had been waiting for. Joffrey's 21st name day. He would be drunk as he was so often now, and his guards would all be by his side as they looked for potential assassins. She would, or should, be able to slip out the back door without notice.

As she prepared for the huge, Great Gatsby style party that the Lannisters held for each name day in their family, she went through the details a last time. Sansa's bruises were hard to cover, even with the expensive concealer she had bought for this purpose, though her slightly swollen eye might be easy enough to cover with the smoky-eye look she had chosen. Once her makeup and hair was fixed in the fashionable way of King's Landing, she started to dress. Her mother had bought her this dress on one of her last visits to King's Landing. It was knee length in blue, flowing silk. Formal enough for such a party but not so formal that she would not be able to escape unnoticed.

She went downstairs then. The party had not yet started, as she was expected to welcome the guests, being from a dignified family herself. Cersei clapped her hands together when she saw her, a false motherly pride on her beautiful features.

"Oh, look at you, Sansa. Such a stunning little dove, aren't you?"

Sansa smiled courteously, as was expected of her.

"Thank you. You look beautiful too, Ma'am."

She cast a glance over the rest of the family. Tommen, Joffrey's younger brother of eight, was a sweet little child. He was a little vision in the smart suit he wore. Next to him was his older sister, Myrcella. She too, beautiful in a red dress, complimenting her golden hair. How could such lovely children be relate to that? She looked at her betrothed. She once would have thought he looked handsome in his suit, top buttons undone and his skinny tie slightly loose around the neck she had wished so many times to strangle. He nodded at her, casual as could be.

Almost instantly after she greeted the family, the guests started arriving. First was the families in the Lannisters' law firm; the Baratheons, the Trants... so many families after that that her face ached from smiling, and the evening had barely started. She shook hands and kissed cheeks of the corrupt lawyers, men whose eyes raked over her body and women who cast her glances of hatred and jealousy. Sansa was disliked by all.

It was halfway through the night Joffrey started to get drunk. He danced with her a few times, though only at his mother's command before he started to dance with other women. A girl who she knew as Ros was the last person she saw him dance with before she slipped out of the ballroom she had been whipped in just hours earlier. She hurried to the bathroom on the ground floor, keeping her composure until she was safe in the room, the door locked as she rooted through the cupboards to find the bag she had hidden in the panel under the sink the day before. It was a huge duffel bag, and she did her best to push it through the small window before quickly unlocking the door and hitching herself through as well.

As her feet touched the ground below, she breathed a sigh of relief. Step one was complete. She picked up her bag and hurried to the road as she pulled her phone out of her purse and called a taxi company. Telling them the address of two blocks over, she hurried to the destination and waited for the cab to arrive. It was only a couple of minutes before a car pulled up, enough time for her to pull her coat over her dress and use a hat to partially cover her telltale hair. She got in the backseat and sighed again, wiping off the red lipstick she had worn that evening on a tissue.

"The airport, please?" She asked as she double checked the contents of her bag. Money, a credit card, passport, phone, clothes, shoes, jewelry... it was all there. The trip to the airport was a short one, thank the Gods, and she arrived just before midnight. She paid the cabbie the fare, plus a tip if he didn't tell anyone he had seen her, and went into the airport.

The first flight out of King's Landing was Clegane Keep, wherever that was. It was near Lannisport, apparently, but a good few hundred miles away would keep her hidden enough. After passport control and security, she waited just forty minutes for her flight, and as the plane took off, she couldn't hold in her laugh of relief.


	2. Chapter 2

She awoke to the muffled sound of the pilot's warning.

"Half an hour til we land in Clegane Keep airport."

She blinked in the light of dawn coming through the window, the shutter only pulled half the way down. Thankfully, the flight wasn't too full, and Sansa had three seats to herself, thank the Gods. She peeked out of the small, oval window and squinted as she was projected with the full view of the sun. At least she had some head start from the Lannisters, she thought with a content sigh. Perhaps she would have a normal life after all.

After a few minutes of allowing herself to wake up, she pulled her compact mirror out of her purse and took a glance at her reflection. 'Seven Hells!' she cursed silently as she took a good look at herself for the first time on the flight. Her makeup had smeared, leaving black shadows under her eyes and her lipstick smudged, her hair matted on one side from where she had slept. She retrieved her makeup bag from her purse and wiped the plastered foundation and mascara from her face and reapplied it as subtly and lightly as she could, followed by brushing her hair through and tying it into a messy bun. She still wore her cocktail dress from the night before, though there was nothing she could do about that just yet.

The flight took its bumpy descent to the runway, and as it came to a halt, she took a deep breath of anticipation. The seatbelt light above her dulled with a ping, and Sansa stood and stretched her aching muscles. The eight hour flight or so had given her cramps all over her body. She picked up her bag, smiling politely at the air hostesses as she stumbled her way down the narrow aisle of the economy flight.

The fresh air of the cool Westerlands cleared the fogginess of her mind some, though descending the metal steps proved difficult with heels. She cursed herself for not changing them beforehand as she stumbled onto the ground. She followed the trail of passengers to the arrivals gate with her passport at the ready and passed through in a breeze of security checks before finally retrieving her duffel bag from the conveyor belt. The zips were slightly undone, and she glared at the portal to the outside as if the men there who had rooted through her belongings could see her annoyance. It was not as though she had anything worth stealing in there, but she still felt somewhat violated.

The next step was finding a cab out of there. It wasn't difficult in the near empty airport, and within a few minutes she was in the stifling warmth of the car, telling the driver to take her to a motel. She had enough money to pay for more than month until she got a job.

With a happy sigh of freedom, she looked out of the window at her new hometown. The weather was almost the same as King's Landing, warm but not hot. Perhaps more windy, she mused. A huge river snaked beside the highway they drove by, and her mind wandered as she thought about it's name, the town's history, everything. A huge building they drove past revealed itself as 'Clegane Steel'. Clegane... that must be the founders, she assumed in a bleary trail of tired thoughts. She would start a new life here, she thought with a content smile on her lips. It was a half hour ride or so until they reached the motel. Half an hour of listening to tinny country music which was obviously the cabbie's favorite judging by his muttered lyrics. The motel was not the worst she had ever seen, she thought as the cab pulled into the parking lot, but the inner rich girl turned her nose up at the damaged sign over the door. "Thanks," she said to the driver, offering him a beaming smile as she paid the fare. With her luggage in hand, she made her way to the lobby.

"Hey, I'll need a room for a while." Sansa said to the bored looking girl at reception, whose name badge revealed her as Jeyne.

"Yeah, have 12." She muttered back as she handed a key over. "It's $29 a night. Pay up front."

Sansa paid in cash and pulled her bag to the room with a '12' pinned onto the door, used the key to open it and took a look at her new home.

It was clean, at least, though the cramped, dated room was nothing like the luxury she was used to. The small double bed took up most of the floor space, a minuscule wardrobe taking up the remainder. Another door led her to a small restroom, complete with a damp shower which caught her eye immediately. That was the first thing she would do, she decided.

She began to unpack her bag, piling pants, shirts, underwear and shoes onto the bed. It was hardly enough to last her a week, but she could go shopping. She gathered some lounge pants and a loose t-shirt and put them on her pillow, and stretched again. Gods, her back was killing her, and the jetlag was starting to kick in again.

The only thing she wanted in that moment was a shower, so she took her time standing under the hot stream of water as the kinks in her muscles from the cramped journey loosened. It was ten minutes or so before she washed the stiff hairspray out with the tacky complimentary shampoo, and the shower gel giving a hint of lemons, which was at least pleasant. Taking her time to rinse of the suds from her now relaxed body, she left the shower and fell on the bed, still wrapped in her towel as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion.


	3. Chapter 3

She awoke, still wrapped tightly in her dampened towel, on the bed. Her hair, having not been brushed before she fell asleep, was a dried mess of auburn tangles sprawled over her back. She shivered from the cold and blinked a few times as she tried to remember where she was, her familiar belongings nowhere to be found. After a moment of panic that she had been kidnapped, or that Joffrey had found a new cunning plan to frighten her, she remembered everything that had happened. A dull, yellow light hung above her, and the motel art on the walls told her that it had not all been just a wonderfully exciting dream. This was all real! Gods, she was actually free!

As Sansa sat up in her bed, already feeling optimistic about the new day, she made a quick checklist in her mind of things to do that day; find a job, find an apartment, shop for clothes... She would be busy, but with nothing else to do there she didn't mind at all. Quickly, she applied a layer of mascara to her already long eyelashes before brushing through her hair until it gained a satisfying shine. Then, she changed into her most capable-looking outfit, the scene from her favorite teen movie 'Clueless' coming into her mind, where Cher dresses for her driving test. A ghost of a smile drifted across her lips at the memory of her home in Winterfell, watching films with her siblings and parents, the whole family together. Now was not the time to think of that, though. Most of the clothes were informal, packed for comfort rather than job interviews. Eventually, she settled on the only ensemble that looked professional. Taking a glance in the murky mirror on the wall, she decided that the pale pink chiffon blouse and skinny black pants would have to do, though she wished for something less boring. Slipping on some black ballet pumps, she left the room.

She locked the door behind her and went to the lobby once again. Instead of the grumpy Jeyne whom she had met the night before, a boy who could not be more than 18 greeted her at the desk. He looked permanently gleeful, but at the same time flustered. Already she liked him.

"Hey, I wondered if you had a local paper?" She asked him, offering him a polite smile.

"Yeah-yes, Ma'am... Miss, sorry. Yes we do." He fumbled around on the desk until he found a tabloid entitled the Keep Post. He handed it to her, nearly dropping it on the floor in the process, and clumsily sat back in his seat, giving her a timid smile as he flushed deep red. His name tag said 'Podrick', and she made a mental note to remember that as she thanked him before returning to her motel room.

She used the cheap complimentary pen with the motel's logo printed on it in fading colors to circle the job advertisements that she would apply for, the pen on the verge of running out all the while to her great annoyance. There were four jobs she had found by the end of it. Two secretary jobs, a job in a cleaning firm, and a personal assistant. One of them caught her eye; a secretary job in Clegane Steel, the company she had passed on the way from the airport to the motel. It would be taking calls and sorting out administration and paperwork for the most part, a mundane job, but as were they all. Nothing like the glamorous fashion job she had wanted, or running her own dance school as she had once dreamed.

The personal assistant job was closest, so she checked her appearance again and called one of the taxi firms she had found in the newspaper to pick her up. This had never been a problem in King's Landing, where cabs drove past between every other car. She scolded herself almost instantly for thinking positively of the city. She would never want to go back there. It was only a couple of minutes until the car arrived, anyway. That cab ride was short, giving her a glimpse of some of the other landmarks of the city. Huge billboards advertised football games, and there were hints to the town's steel trade everywhere she looked in the gritty landscape. They drove over a bridge over the river again, giving her the full view of the waterway. The drive was soon over, and she paid the driver who had dropped her off at an ugly, old fashioned building near the city center. From there it was only a short walk to the other places hiring, thank the Gods.

Half an hour later, and after being told she had no workplace experience and would never have a chance at a law firm such as their's, she was thoroughly disheartened. Of course she didn't get the job. She had never been in real work, and had only gone to college to study fashion. She would be lucky if she ever got a job such as that. Blinking back tears of humiliation, she decided to make her way to the first secretary job in a small office. It was a twenty minute walk or so, but it turned out to be a waste. Again, she wasn't chosen due to lack of work experience. The second job interview was five or so blocks away, but she could see the building from where she stood. She walked there quickly, desperate to get the dreadful day over with. All of the morning's optimism had faded into a dull acceptance that she was already failing at life on her own. 'Clegane Steel' seemed like a looming sign over the huge building that served as their offices, she assumed. It was intimidating, but what choice did she have? Besides, it couldn't be as bad as that first interview. A wave of determination and courage washed over her when she pushed the doors open. The polished concrete floor gave the place a fresh, modern yet masculine look. The wall behind the reception desk was plain bricks as well, and the open plan room gave a surprisingly homely feel to it, one that she couldn't quite understand. It all fitted perfectly together. The woman at the desk seemed kind enough, a beautiful, peaceful looking woman of about 30 who introduced herself as Margaery Tyrell. She had never met anyone so pleasant, she realized after a short time of small talk and chatting. She discovered Margaery had moved to Clegane Keep from Highgarden, in hope to find her own way rather than living off of her family's wealth, though the diamond earrings told her she still allowed herself some benefits from her grandparents. She admired Margaery's independence, though. She had chosen a new life, rather than being forced into it as Sansa had been. Instantly she wanted to be friends with her. It wasn't long before she was escorted into the small office that served as an interview room, and she introduced herself to the man who raised from his seat to shake her hand, and introduced himself as Bronn. If she was not mistaken, when she turned to thank Margaery she saw something in her eye when she looked at Bronn. She could recognize that look anywhere. Hells, she was the best matchmaker in King's Landing, having set up her friend Brienne, who had taken Sansa under her wing after both her parents' deaths, with Jaime, an arrogant but kindhearted uncle of Joffrey's. She made a mental note to find away to get those two together if she got the job. Grinning to herself at the notion of romance, she turned back to commence the interview.

Surprisingly, the interview went in a breeze of answering simple questions and comfortable small talk. Bronn was much friendlier than the other interviewers, and when he offered her the job on the spot she had to stop herself squealing from happiness.

"Really, we just need someone with good people skills and a good education. As long as you can talk, write and add up a few numbers, which you seem more than capable of, you've got the job. Congrats, Sansa." He had said with a wide smile on his kind face and a wink. She thanked the Old Gods and the New that she wouldn't have to work in a cleaning firm. She had a hard enough time bringing herself to wash her own dishes. She started work on Monday, just two days away. At last now she could go shopping and get some new work clothes. She had passed a quaint little clothes shop on the way there, and that was exactly where she intended to go. Once again the day was perfect.

She thanked Bronn a dozen times, and as she was leaving she turned around one last time to thank Margaery yet again, she stepped back into a solid figure. She gasped in surprise and spun around to apologize, but stopped when she saw the looming man in front of her.

Expecting to meet his eyes when she turned, her face was level with his chest. Blinking in confusion and shock, she took notice of his appearance. Gods, he was so... huge! Sansa was tall, but he completely dwarfed her. He had to be 6 foot 6, at least, and that wasn't the only thing that she found intimidating. He had broad, muscled shoulders, probably twice as wide as her, she thought with amazement. He wore black jeans, a black t shirt with an tiny yellow embroidered emblem of a running dog in the left breast, and a black leather jacket. If that wasn't intimidating enough, when her eyes crept up to his face, she was forced to suppress another squeal, this one of fear rather than excitement. Half of his face was completely burnt. Some of the flesh was scorched black, the rest pink like scar tissue. As she stared, her eyes wide with fear, she noticed some of the bone of his jaw was visible, and dark, shoulder-length hair only grew on half of his head. It was parted in such a way that what hair he had was combed over in a vain attempt to hide the painful looking burns. A beard covered his sharp jawline, covering a little of the scars on the ride cheek. His low, rasping voice pulled her out of her reverie.

"Didn't your mother tell you it isn't polite to stare?"

His tone didn't invite an answer, and she quickly apologized, biting her lip and casting her eyes to the floor as he moved her aside. Though she was again surprised that he was not ungentle, she didn't risk hesitating on her way to leave. She heard a soft chuckle behind her. Evidently Margaery was used to the man's terrifying presence. As he walked into the reception and saying something to Margaery, Sansa turned and walked hurriedly towards the street, a fierce blush of embarrassment and guilt covering her face.


	4. Chapter 4

He made his way from his house to the company offices in midtown. Those were the only places Sandor visited much now, other than the bar if Bronn made him. He avoided going out. He hated meeting new people. Bronn and Margaery were constantly trying to get him out of the house, or out of the office, and into the city. They were the only people he had allowed to get acquainted properly with. He had not allowed them to get too close, as he had not allowed anyone to get too close.

A strange trio, they were, and for that they elicited some strange glances to go with it, though more at him than his two relatively normal companions.

He had known Bronn the longest, since High School when they played football together. Bronn had followed him around trying to make him go out and do things, things he didn't want to do. He was the closest thing Sandor really had to a friend. Out of something akin to kindness, Sandor had given him a senior role in his company, Clegane Steel, after he inherited it from his brother. For some reason, he had thought Bronn would back off for a bit after that, but no such luck. Now, he had found himself out drinking every other night in the same bar with Bronn.

And then there was Margaery. He had only hired her a few years back. There were no women in the company while his brother was CEO. Well, there had been, but none of them lasted long, for reasons Sandor decided he didn't want to know. Margaery followed Bronn wherever he went for some reason, and seeing as Sandor only ever went out with Bronn, he was forced into the awkward situation of getting to know her. He found that she was kind, in an over-the-top, excitable, sickly sweet kind of way. She wasn't cruel like he knew so many girls could be. In a way she reminded him of his sister, and he wasn't sure whether he liked or hated her for it. She had bought that 'feminine touch' into the company, or so she called it. If you call the bloody flowers and plants that decorated every surface in the building a 'feminine touch'. Margaery obviously saw Sandor as her little project that she somehow could introduce to a girl and then manipulate her into falling in love with him. Stupid idea. That was never going to happen, not that he wanted it to. He didn't have time to fawn after some woman. Besides, all he had gotten from girls, sober girls at least, was appalled stares.

Speaking of appalled stares, the auburn haired girl whom Margaery had later told him about, the new secretary, had given him the worst yet. Seven Hells, he had never seen anyone look so frightened as she. Sure, women gave him horrified looks if they hadn't seen him before, though at most a quick glance, turning their attention to something else before it became too impolite. This was completely different.

She was an unfamiliar face. Pale and tall with bright blue eyes, waist length masses of red hair, and a look of complete naivety and innocence about her. Already he could tell the she was going to be around more often, by the way she was smiling and giggling with Margaery. The fact she was beautiful did nothing but deepen the insult of her stare.

Why Bronn had hired her, he didn't know. She looked the sort who would jump at a fly, let alone a big ugly dog like himself. Bronn had always been a fucking idiot though. Biting off more than he could chew and not thinking about the consequences.

He had seen her coming out of the reception, walking backwards as she said a few last words to Margaery before she left his company's offices. Margaery had that sly smirk on her mouth again, like she was up to something. When she looked up at him, her eyes glittered with mischief. Gods, what was she doing now? He'd told Margaery to quit this bloody setting him up, and what did she do but find the most beautiful girl in the whole of Westeros as her dumb little mission? He shook his head in annoyance and stopped walking just before the girl stumbled straight back into him. He stayed stone still as she raised her eyes to his face. She didn't meet his eyes. She was too bloody captivated with his scars. He glanced up at Margaery, the look of mixed annoyance and exasperation clear on her features, and she responded with a little giggle. When she didn't move, though, he felt his temper rise. He had had enough of her staring. "Didn't your mother tell you it was rude to stare?" He had said. It had come out in a more biting and sarcastic tone than he had intended. Fuck it. She shouldn't have been staring, he told himself to get rid of the pang of guilt when her eyes widened in alarm. She chirped her little apology and fluttered off. Stupid girl. As bad as Margaery.

"Who was that?" He asked her.

"Oh, that's Sansa. Isn't she wonderful?" She asked him in that tone. That tone that said she was going to make him believe she was wonderful even if he didn't already.

"Who is she?" He grunted, rather than answering the bloody stupid question.

"Your new secretary, of course! Remember you advertised in the paper?" She said, rolling her eyes as if he was somehow supposed to know they had just hired some complete stranger off the street without his permission.

Another thought crossed his mind. He had to look at that auburn haired creature every day he came into work. Not that she wasn't nice enough to look at, but still. Usually when people were that afraid he could just forget about it. How was he supposed to do that with a Gods-be-damned walking, talking reminder? His 'friends' as they called themselves hadn't thought this through. He audibly grunted his annoyance and left Margaery's coy smirk behind him as he went to find Bronn. He was in his office on the phone, throwing screwed up balls of paper into the wastepaper basket at the far side of the room. Sandor mimed for him to hang up. Bronn ignored him and continued talking until Sandor went to snatch the phone away. That made him put the phone down, muttering apologies to the voice on the other end.

"What was that for?" Bronn asked with a look of false confusion on his face, his feigned ignorance betrayed by the slight twitch of his mouth into a poorly concealed smile.

"What do you think? Who is this Sansa girl?"

"Your new secretary." The smirk matching Margaery's further gave away his bloody ridiculous intentions; to make Sandor feel awkward as fuck every time he walked into work to see that frightened, stupid beauty sitting in the desk outside his office.

"And there were no other applicants? Why her?" He growled, but Bronn just laughed.

"I thought she seemed friendly! We need some friendly to get rid of your nastiness."

Bloody idiot. Sandor scowled and turned to leave the chuckling fool behind him, muttering about him being an asshole all the while as he walked up the stairs towards his office. Always the stairs, never the saved standing in complete bloody silence with a complete stranger. Even if they had seen him before they were always terrified, the fools.

At last he reached the top floor. He never got out of breath anymore after years of climbing the stairs, plus the constant exercise he did anyway to fill his otherwise mundane free time. Sandor slammed the door behind him. It was probably too loud, he thought afterwards, when he heard a dangerous crack of the wooden doorframe. He was never good at concealing his bad mood, and always seemed to take it out on other people or furniture. People had told him he needed a strategy to deal with it, but that was easier said than done, and he'd visit the Seven Hells before he asked someone for help.

He stood for a moment, looking out the window in his office that had a view of some of the city. Being in the founder's family, he was one of the richest people in Clegane Keep, even after his late brother had run the company into the ground, bringing with it a hundred lawsuits about abuse and harassment, and those were just from the women who had had the guts to complain. He had spent years improving it and regaining the previous reputation of the business, and at last they were making a decent profit again. Not that he had anything to spend the money on. Usually someone had to mention to him that his phone needed replacing or that his car was old. Mostly, he just spent the money on expanding the company. An office block with floor to ceiling windows in his office was one of the few things he had actually wanted to buy. He liked having the view.

Still fuming, he ran his hand through what was left of his hair. Though he rarely showed the pain he truly felt, now that he was alone he allowed himself to let out an exasperated sigh. He had rarely been so annoyed in his life. There was no chance in the Seven Heavens that Bronn and Margaery would be able to make a couple out of the two of them. Bloody fools, the both of them. She would want some imaginary knight in shining armor, and in no way was he interested in starting a relationship.

With another heavy sigh, he allowed himself to sit back into the leather chair behind the grand mahogany desk. Gods, this was the last day of bloody peace and quiet until the girl moved into the upper floor lobby just outside. He took a moment to imagine what it would be like after Monday. The whole place would smell of perfume in her presence, not like the masculine scent of leather and metal he had established in the whole top floor of the company. He couldn't vent his anger in his hidden away office, because she would be right outside to hear it. He would hear her chirping little voice take all his phone calls. Like Margaery, she would probably try and improve him, giving him damned fashion tips whenever he walked past her. More bloody flowers to decorate the plant-free haven he had so far protected from Margaery. He liked things the way they were, and he didn't often like change, and he already knew that this Sansa girl would change everything. It would be bloody torture.

Nevertheless, he put his head down and got to work, adding the neverending stream of numbers until the sun went down and yellow lights illuminated the city view outside his office windows. Then, without checking to see if Bronn or Margaery were still there, he went home.


	5. Chapter 5

Gods, what had she done? Staring at a man who obviously didn't feel good about himself was most likely the most impolite thing she had ever done, and Sansa prided herself on her manners. She shook her head at herself in disappointment. 'Oh well.' She thought to herself in a vain attempt to cheer herself up. 'I'll never have to see him again. I'll forget I was ever so rude by tomorrow.' Still, the guilty pain in her chest remained. The only thing that could possibly have made her feel better was shopping.

She found a large drugstore on her way to the clothes shop she had seen earlier and bought herself the most expensive shower products they had in stock, lemon scented of course, along with tweezers, lip gloss, and some more mascara. She discovered her favourite perfume amongst the shelves, and added it to her basket. She then found some much needed hair straighteners and purchased them too, with the reasoning that she hated tying her hair up, and she wanted to look her best on Monday. The cute clothes shop she had passed on the way to Clegane Steel was still open, thank the Gods, so she went inside and spent a few hundred coin, much more than she had meant to, on the clothes she told herself she needed for work. Skirts, blouses, jackets, dresses and shoes, all in subtle colours. She was now fitted with a complete wardrobe of neutral monochromes and pastel colors. Though none were designer brands as she was accustomed to, she told herself she had to stop being such a snob if she was committed to her newfound independence. She would never have that much money again, and it wasn't like there was another Lannister family to keep her stocked up on the latest season's fashions. She didn't want that anyway, she decided with a shrug. I wasn't worth the constant torment mixed with the guilt of spending someone else's money, which the Lannisters had never hesitated to remind her of. She felt a rush of confidence and independence when she swiped her credit card at the counter. It occurred to her that in her overly sheltered life she had never been able to shop properly before, not without constant supervision from Joffrey's sadistic bodyguards, or in the best case scenario Cersei to go with her and make sure she didn't escape. Even at Winterfell she was too well known to risk going shopping alone.

She went back to the motel just as the autumn sun was lowering in the sky, and went to the lobby to pay for another night's stay. She smiled when she saw it was still Podrick rather than anyone else. She felt a kind of warmth for him already, like he was her little brother. He blushed and beamed when he noticed her walking towards him. He fumbled through the transaction, but nevertheless she thanked him politely again before she returned to her room.

Finding herself far too exhausted to look for the apartment as she had intended, and her emotions too haywire after her busy day, she decided against going out again. She had another steaming hot shower, humming contentedly to herself as she used her new shampoo, conditioner and soap to clean herself thoroughly. She felt a thousand times better when her hair and skin smelt of lemons, her favorite scent, rather than the bland smell of the complimentary toiletries. She changed into a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t shirt that she had brought with her from King's Landing, and fell asleep on the bed once again.

In her dream, she was a wolf running through the Godswood in Winterfell. She heard the calls from her sister and two of her brothers. Strange, she thought. They were dead, were they not? She ran to find them, but no matter which direction she ran in the calls seemed to grow quieter. She gave up, and took a drink from one of the pools. She would find them another time. She heard the Gods speaking to her through the rustle of the weirwood leaves and the splash of each pond as the wind rippled over the water. It was the sound of the trees outside the motel that brought her back to reality.

She awoke slowly, feeling refreshed and happy as she always did after one of her wolf dreams, or 'green dreams' as a gypsy woman from the far North had once told her. She didn't know what that meant, only that somehow it made her special. Sansa doubted that, though. After all, they were just dreams. She didn't remember what had happened, only that she had run through the forest, relishing in the freedom of her wolf form. Sansa was thoroughly excited about the day. It was similar to how she had felt yesterday, but this time she was determined to not let anything spoil her good mood. She was a wolf of Winterfell. She was strong enough to survive being alone for a little while.

After she dressed in one of her new outfits, slipping on a pair of high heels that she had found herself madly in love with, she used a pen to scribble circles around the apartments she could afford in the day before's paper. There weren't many options at the moment, but she would certainly be able to upscale when she started earning money. Her favourite was only a short drive from her new job, and though it was small, it looked clean, and the advert said it was in a pleasant enough neighborhood. It had one bedroom and one bathroom, but the rooms were open plan and she knew she could make them beautiful in time. She phoned the number on the ad, and was soon making her way to the apartment.

She waited outside for just a couple of minutes before she was greeted by a tall, beautiful woman who looked and sounded as though she was from the Free Cities. She introduced herself as Shae, the landlord.

"So, you are new in town?" Shae asked. "Yes, I am. I don't know anyone yet, but I'm guessing I'm going to need a second signature on the lease?" Sansa asked. That had been one of her main worries, and she chewed nervously on her lip as she awaited Shae's answer.  
"Well, really you should… Do you not know anybody at all?" She frowned as she thought through the people she had met. Jeyne, Podrick, Bronn, Margaery, and the nameless stranger that she had utterly humiliated herself in their first encounter. "Do you know Margaery Tyrell?" She settled on at last, and Shae nodded with a smile. "Of course! We are friends!" She explained.  
"Well, I only just met her, but would that be alright? I'm going to start working with her on Monday." "Yes! That will be fine. You will work at Clegane Steel? For Mr Clegane?" She asked, raising an eyebrow dubiously.  
"Yeah. I mean, Bronn hired me. I guess I'll be working for Mr Clegane." She hadn't realised there was still a Clegane running the company. She had just assumed it was the heritage of the business. Shrugging, she went back to looking around the apartment.

Comforted, she took the lease back to the motel with her, thanking Shae politely as she left. Everything was working out perfectly. She had a job, she had an apartment, and the best thing of all was that she was free from the Lannisters. She kept the lease squashed in between books in her purse so that it wouldn't crease. Before she went to bed, she read for a few hours, a fairytale from when she was a child that she couldn't bare to leave behind. Her mother had read it to her every night, and even though she now knew knights weren't real, it gave her comfort to believe for a few moments. It gave her hope that one day her fairytale dream would come true. She fell asleep with the book still in her lap.

The next morning, her cell phone alarm woke her at 7am, playing her favorite song, 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'. It was light outside, and Sansa smiled widely in excitement as she sat up in her bed so quickly it gave her headrush. It was her first day at work! She applied her makeup, a thin line of kohl on her top eyelids and a couple of coats of mascara, as well as tinted lip gloss. After brushing and straightening her long hair so it was completely free from frizz, she decided on an outfit. She dresses in a mid-length pencil skirt and a white blouse with black court shoes. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she noticed that she didn't look like a little, vulnerable girl anymore. She looked like a woman! A professional, grown up woman! She smiled to herself and clapped her hands together, bouncing on her toes in excitement as she set off to her first day at her new job.

She rushed out of the door, skipping as best she could in her heels as she went to the taxi she had booked. "Clegane Steel offices." She said with a beaming smile, confusing the driver with her ridiculously good mood.

The short car journey seemed to take a year. She shifted in her seat, wriggling with boredom and excitement at the concept of symbolically starting her own life, without anyone's help or shelter. She fiddled with her hands, checked her purse a thousand times for her wallet and cell phone, anything to make the time go faster so that she could start working. Gods, this was perfect! So much better than she could have ever anticipated.

At last they arrived outside the building that just days ago she had interviewed at. She looked up at the building, still daunting, but in a different way now. Rather than deciding her fate as either a successful secretary or a cleaning lady, this was now her future. She took a deep, nervous breath and pushed the door open. 


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa opened the door into reception and was greeted by a smiling Margaery, who excitedly bounded up to meet her. Though a little taller than Margaery, they were similar in appearance, both slim with long hair and light eyes, and currently with matching beams on their lips. She knew she would be good friends with her in the days to come.

"Hey, Sansa! How are you? I have been so excited for you to start working, you know? There are no other girls around my age in the office, and I need a girlfriend to gossip with!" She paused for a second to laugh. "You're working on the top floor, so I'll give you a quick tour to show you around and introduce you to everyone, then I'll show you upstairs, ok?" Margaery chatted to her non-stop a quick walk around the ground floor, which was only a couple of offices. They walked past Bronn on the quick walk around, and again Sansa didn't miss the smile Margaery gave him, or the look he gifted her with in return. Grinning to herself, she turned her attention back to the tour. "The first floor is just really me that you'll need to know. You know Bronn already, of course. He's on the eighteenth floor. I'm sure you'll get along. He's pretty easy to talk to. Then you're on the twentieth floor, with Sandor. You'll be his secretary. Don't mind him if he's a little grumpy. That's just the way he is. You'll get used to it after a little while." Margaery warned as they entered the elevator. Sansa nodded. She could deal with a little grumpiness after living with her five siblings for sixteen years. Her companion pressed the button for the top floor, and within thirty seconds they were there.

She looked around as she stepped into the top floor's open lobby space, filled with one large desk outside a huge mahogany door, which she assumed was her boss' office. The floors were stone, the two side walls for the most part were huge windows. On the wall opposite her, separating her secretarial space from the office, plain stone bricks were used to add some form of detail to the otherwise sparse area, which matched the wall with the elevator door. It was completely masculine, she noted with an audible sigh of disappointment. It was bare of decor of any kind, and she knew she would have to add some personality to the room as soon as she got the chance.

"This is your desk, and that's Sandor's office just behind it. He will arrive soon. I think the first thing you'll be doing is just getting to know the computers and everything. When you answer the phone, say 'Clegane Steel, how can I help?'. It's a judgement call if you think Sandor will want to take the call. If you can sort it out yourself, do. If Sandor's not in, or he says he doesn't want to talk to anyone, say you'll take a message. Usually it will be important clients trying to arrange meetings, ok? His diary is on the computer. If you need anything, I'm speed dial two on the phone, so give me a call or an email and I'll help out. I'll tell you when Sandor arrives so you're able to prepare for him." Margaery gave her an encouraging smile and a quick, friendly hug before pressing the button for the ground floor again. Sansa only had time to call a 'thank you' before the doors closed, leaving her completely alone.

"Ok, then..." Sansa said, wringing her hands together nervously as she walked towards her desk, trying to absorb the whirlwind of information she had been given. She sat at the desk in a leather chair that was obviously built for someone a lot larger than herself. It was clear the furniture was new. Perhaps Sandor Clegane had never had a secretary before, she wondered. Getting her mind in a work mode, she switched on the computer, opened a few apps to figure out what was what, and spent the next half hour trying to understand what she was supposed to do. She had tabs open for the calendar she had found containing her boss' appointments and meetings. A ping alerted her to a new email. Margaery had said Sandor was on his way up, with a cheerful smiley face by the side. She took a deep breath as she awaited her new boss' arrival.

I was only a couple of minutes before the doors opened, and Sansa prepared a beaming smile onto her glossed lips. A moment passed as the elevator unveiled a hugely tall man dressed all in black. A hint of recognition passed her mind before she realized.  
Oh, Gods.

Her smiled disappeared instantly as she covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. A fierce blush covered her cheeks. No, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. The man from the lobby the other day whom she had completely embarrassed herself in front of with her appalling manners. She had convinced herself she would never see him again. She had told herself that he was just a client or a delivery man or a freelance employee. Anything but Sandor Clegane himself. He could not be the owner of the company. He could not be her boss. She repeated them over and over again in her mind, though she knew it was a lie. A muffled whimper of fear and embarrassment escaped her covered mouth as he gained feet at a time with each step. Her hands were shaking, she noticed absently as she forced herself to stand up and greet him, the only thing she could think to do.

He looked irritated at her though she had not yet said a word. His looming stance that had intimidated her only two days ago had somehow intensified. He looked positively terrifying, even more so now that she knew his status. He was superior to her in every way, it seemed. He didn't appear to want to start the introductions, so she took it upon herself, though reluctantly, to try and redeem herself from her dreadful first impression.

"Ser, Mr Clegane." She stammered out, her voice near a whisper as she fixed her eyes to his chin, too afraid to dare meet his eye. "I'm Sansa Stark, your new secretary." She lowered her eyes to the floor when she had finished her shaky introduction, and she wiped her hands on her skirt to stop them shaking.

"I'm no Ser." He grunted out. Was that all he had to say, she wondered. She opened her mouth for a moment, but no sound came out. Gods, what should she say? Nervously, she took a strand of her loose, straight hair and entwined it through her fingers, an irritating telltale habit she had developed from her years of anxiety. She needed to say something to break the awkward silence she had found herself in. Perhaps she should apologize? Yes, that would do.

"I didn't realize who you were, the other day. I'm sorry I stared. I still feel awful about it." She muttered nervously, keeping her gaze on her feet.

"Aye, I figured." Another short reply. He must be angry at her. The was no other reason as to why he would be so short with his replies. She glanced up quickly to meet his eye before returning her stare to the floor. What should she say now? She chewed anxiously on the inside of her cheek as she planned her next sentence.

"Its good to meet you... again. Thank you for this job. I'll try my best not to let you down." She offered in hope of a slightly more elaborate answer.

All she was rewarded with was a harsh grunt, a noise she couldn't decide if it was a laugh or a snort. Neither was particularly positive. She didn't have time to react before he stormed past her into his office, leaving her dumbfounded in her spot.

She quickly pressed speed dial 2 on her phone as soon as Sandor's door had slammed. Bouncing anxiously on her chair, she had to stop herself screaming when Margaery picked up with an ever cheerful "Hello, Clegane Steel. How can I help?"

"Margaery? It's Sansa." She hissed in a near whisper.

"Oh, hey! You met the boss... again?" She teased with a hint of a stifled laugh in her voice.

"You knew what happened the other day! Why didn't you warn me? He hates me!"

"Oh, don't be silly! He doesn't hate you. He's like that with everyone, trust me. I'm getting another call now, Sansa. You'll be fine, hon. Call me if you need anything else. Bye!"

Margaery hung up, leaving her isolated once again.

She worked through the day, answering phone calls and emails and scheduling appointments until the time came for her to go home. Knowing it was only polite to say goodbye to her boss, she forced herself to knock on his door.

"Come in." He answered in a harsh, rasping voice.

"I... I'm going home now, Mr Clegane. I came to say goodnight." He seemed surprised when he raised his eyes to look at her, his brow furrowed in what seemed to be confusion. When she forced herself to meet his eyes, she realized they were not always hateful. He looked almost kind, though not quite, and the moment of impassiveness to her politeness was soon gone.

"Aye, goodbye." He grunted before returning to his paperwork.

She sighed at her personal failure at the attempt to make her boss feel something other than irritation at her. Still, she forced a smile onto her face, determined not to let this be a dreadful first day, and closed his office door behind her. She went downstairs, got Margaery to sign the lease for her apartment with some ten minutes of small talk, and returned to the motel.

Tomorrow would be better, she told herself firmly. She would make Sandor Clegane like her if it took her whole life.


	7. Chapter 7

He stormed into the reception to see an absurdly happy Margaery, who looked too pleased with herself, and he knew why. Today was Monday, and Monday was the day his new secretary, Sansa Stark, started. He had been dreading this moment, though evidently he couldn't say the same for Margaery, who looked thrilled. He did not want a secretary any more than he wanted an irritating little girl following him around at the office.

"Sandor! Sansa's upstairs. She's been waiting for you." She informed him, the smile on her lips matching the smile she had given him two days ago after they had hired the stupid girl. Again, she was trying to manipulate the situation so she could set the two of them up. That was the last thing he wanted.

"Now, Sandor. I'm telling you that you are not allowed to be cruel to her. She is lovely and sweet and innocent, and I haven't yet told her that it was you whom she... Is 'met' the right word? Anyway, I'll email her to let her know you're coming."

"How the fuck am I supposed to be nice to her? She will annoy me, and I will scare her. There's no doubt in the Seven Hells about that." He growled, keeping his gaze on the unwavering Margaery.

"I don't know, Sandor. But you have to try. She's new in town, and she wouldn't like a mean old boss bullying her. This is her first ever job, you know." Sandor responded with a harsh grunt. How had a girl her age never had a job before? She must have had everything spoon fed to her in life, and that annoyed him more than anything. That's what people thought of him, and he despised the reputation. People assumed that because he was the owner of a company, he hadn't had to work to get to where he was. He would happily have done any other job but this, but instead he was forced into ownership of his grandfather's Gods forsaken steelworks. That hadn't been easy at all; to drop everything after this brother's death to rebuild the reputation of a company that was driven into the ground from Gregor's careless attitude to the business. This Sansa girl would be just like the rest, thinking he had had his way through life, just as she had, or so it seemed.

Without saying anything more, he left and headed up the stairs before stopping himself. She wouldn't expect him to have walked up twenty flights of stairs. That was considered strange. Without a second thought, he took the elevator. Usually he didn't care what anyone's opinion was of him, but for some reason this was different. She was already afraid of him, and he didn't feel as though he wanted to frighten her anymore than he did. That confused him to no end. He wasn't usually bothered if people were scared of him, what did he care what a stupid little girl thought?

The doors opened with an irritating 'ding' noise, and without allowing himself to hesitate he started walking to her. He took note of the girl in a quick look from head to toe. She was tall and slim, as he remembered, but her hair looked nicer today. It was down in a sleek, straightened mass of auburn rather than it being constrained in a plait. She was dressed smarter too, in a blouse and knee length skirt that suited her. She was even taller with some fucking massive heels on as well, yet somehow she managed to stand up gracefully without stumbling.

She chirped a little introduction, not that he didn't already know who she was. She didn't meet his eyes still, instead fixing them on his jaw, avoiding the mass of scars that covered his face. Her surprise was obvious, and she looked uncomfortable. She was probably still embarrassed from staring, and no wonder. He responded with the automatic reminder that he was not a ser. People always called him that, though for no good reason. He didn't want that kind of pathetic title that jumped-up swines would make people call them when they needed a blast of self confidence. His brother had insisted on people calling him Ser, and he was the least honorable man he knew. In hindsight, he realized it might have been perceived as rude, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He didn't like talking to people. She knew who he was, he knew who she was; the introduction should have been over, but for some reason she didn't stop her chirping.

"I didn't realize who you were, the other day. I'm sorry I stared. I still feel awful about it." She said. Her hands were fiddling with a strand of her red hair, and he wanted to tell her to stop, but Margaery's warning to be kind stuck in his head. She stared at her feet now rather than his face. Probably even the uncharred half of his mutt was too ugly for her pretty eyes to look at, he thought bitterly to himself.

"Aye, I figured." He muttered back. Why was the conversation not over? Surely she would let him leave now? No such luck.

"Its good to meet you... again. Thank you for this job. I'll try my best not to let you down." He grunted in response, too agitated to stay there and start fucking small talking. He walked past her after that. He had never been a talkative type, and her bloody chirping was the last thing he needed to tame his irritation at her. If the fact she was so fucking perfect with her well mannered courtesies and her beauty wasn't enough to piss him off, the fact she wouldn't shut up was. He didn't know why he was so angry at her for being 'perfect'. Perhaps because he didn't like the temptation Margaery and Bronn had shoved into his moderately peaceful life. He slammed the door to his office behind him and ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He hadn't meant to be quite so rude, and he realized now that he might have upset her, but how was he supposed to act? He wasn't used to having someone so close to his otherwise empty top floor, and he had liked it that way. He sat down in the leather chair and decided work would be the best way to take his mind off of her. It wasn't long before he heard the muffled sound of her voice again. She was on the phone. He tried to listen to see if it was a business call or not, and the fact that he heard a hissed "He hates me!" suggested it wasn't.

If he didn't feel bad already, that made a pang of guilt strike his chest. Did he hate her? Sure, she was irritating, but not in a way he hated. He just wasn''t used to her yet. Perhaps he had been far too cruel after all. Silently, he cursed Bronn for hiring her as he had done a thousand times or more since Saturday. He hadn't helped anyone by hiring the girl. She would regret taking this job, and he wouldn't be able to do anything to help her. He didn't even know why he wanted to help her.

He started on the paperwork once again, signing letters and counting numbers until a knock at the door stopped him. Who was it now? "Come in." He had muttered with an irate sigh. He raised his eyes when the door slowly opened a fraction and the bloody Sansa girl stuck her head through. She had come to say goodbye, apparently, though he didn't know why she wouldn't just leave. He furrowed his brow in confusion, and at the same time she met his eyes for the first time. She didn't look too afraid, more tense with nerves this time. Usually he didn't let any emotion leak onto his stone features, but she was a curious creature. He couldn't hide the look of bafflement that had found it's way onto his face. In an attempt to regain his usual expression of indifference, he looked down and continued with his work.

"Aye, goodbye." He rasped as he wrote down his signature on another sheet of paper.

He heard the door close with a soft thud, and when he looked up she was gone. He knew he could have, and should have, been more polite, but his social skills had never been particularly good. A couple of hours later, he went downstairs. Margaery and Bronn were still there, flirting as usual in reception. They stopped once they saw him.

"Hey, Sandor. How was the first day with a secretary?" Bronn asked, winking.

Sandor ignored him with a glare, and turned to Margaery. "She's been talking about me?" He rasped with a scowl. It was more of a statement than a question. The 'he hates me!' drifted through his mind again, only causing him to look more angry than he already did. He didn't know why he cared what she thought of him, only that he didn't like the thought of the frightened little bird complaining about his treatment, when he hadn't done anything wrong, as such.

"It seems you haven't been very polite, Sandor." She said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Fuck, so she had been talking about him after all. He hadn't thought she'd have the guts. "I'll have to teach you how to talk to girls, won't I?"

"I don't need help talking to people. Leave it, will you?"

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind. Who knows, maybe Sansa Stark will make you less stubborn!" She teased and patted him gently on the arm before he left, returning home in a haze of both irritation and confusion that the new girl had caused.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days passed in a similar routine to the first, with Sansa knocking timidly on his office door each morning to inform him of new appointments and his schedule for the day. Margaery checked up on her a few times to make sure Sandor wasn't too harsh. She often spoke a few words to Sandor as well if she came upstairs, which usually resulted in Sandor's raised voice. She could imagine Sandor's irate glare that she knew so well by now to match the loud rasp. She didn't know what Margaery said to annoy him so much, though Margaery always laughed and shouted back something funny and rude.

It was Wednesday when she managed to arrange a meeting with Shae to hand the lease in, and midday on Friday when she called back to give her the brilliant news that she could move in as soon as she was ready. She couldn't hold back a squeal of excitement, resulting in a Sandor rolling his eyes as he walked past to go downstairs. Sansa couldn't bring herself to care about his reaction, though. She called Margaery, who already she had developed a firm friendship with, and Margaery's happy giggle matched her own enthusiasm.

She moved in on Sunday, taking what few things she owned with her. It was unfurnished, so Sansa found herself sleeping on a pile of towels until she went shopping after work. Sansa called Margaery to ask her if she knew anyone who would help her assemble the furniture; a new bed, dresser, and a dining table. That was all she could afford with her wages so far. Instantly, Margaery volunteered, but she didn't expect Margaery to sneak up behind her later that day to announce that Bronn and Sandor would help.

"Sandor?" She asked her friend nervously. She had still not managed to speak to him properly. He always replied in short words or grunts, nothing more. Each one of his almost non-existent replies sent a pang of hurt to her chest, no matter how she tried to convince herself that he didn't really despise her.

"Oh, you don't still think he hates you, do you?" Sansa's lack of reply gave her the answer she needed. "Gods, he doesn't hate you! He doesn't even dislike you. He's like that with everyone, even me and Bronn. Come on, he'll help and then we can all go out for drinks, ok?"

Sansa didn't even have time to respond before Margaery kissed her cheek and left to find Bronn. Sansa scowled at the computer screen in frustration at the seemingly never ending optimism of her friend. She had thought herself reasonably hopeful until she met Margaery, who was determined to turn things around in a way to see the good. What had made her friend think that Sandor didn't hate her? She wondered for a moment if they had been talking about her, but she quickly dismissed the thought. If he couldn't think of anything nice to say to her face, he would only be worse behind her back. There had to be a way to make him like her, though. She had been as kind and as civil as she could since she had started working for Sandor Clegane, and still he seemed to utterly despise her. Perhaps she should confront him about his behavior? Would she be confident enough to do that?

Gathering the remainders of her courage, she knocked carefully on Sandor's door, as she had every morning for the past week to give him his notices for the day ahead. She had dressed in a pantsuit that day, hoping that it would give her a little more power to confront her boss. He answered with the same harsh "Come in" she had grown used to over the week she had been working there. She opened the door, her hands already trembling with nerves, and after informing him of his appointments with clients, she cleared her throat.

That caught his attention. He looked up at her hesitantly, as if he was confused that she would need something else of him. She realized then that she had never spoken up to him before. No wonder he thought it strange that the usual professional, yet timid Sansa Stark would want to say something more. She took a deep breath before she started to speak.

"I know you don't like me very much, Mr Clegane, but I was hoping you might try and be more civil to me if we are to try and be friends. All you've said to me has been rude or short-tempered, and I know I didn't make a very good first impression, but I do feel dreadful about that, and I would do anything to make it up to you." She looked nervously up at him, chewing on her lip as she waited for his response.

He stared at her, and seemed to be contemplating something. Was it such a hard decision he had to think about it for so long? He stood up from his chair and stepped towards her. She didn't know if he was angry or not, and his stare into his eyes made her so uncomfortable she had to look down at her feet. Eventually, when he was stood right in front of her, towering over her in his huge height, she was rewarded with something of an answer.

"Do I frighten you so much, girl?" He asked. She hadn't noticed that her hands were shaking, but it was more in nerves than terror.

"You don't scare me." She told him. Though her voice betrayed her by wavering, she knew it was the truth. His scars, horrific as they may be, didn't seem so intimidating as they had the first time. It was more his attitude than anything that she feared.

"Look at me." He demanded. When she hesitated, he repeated himself. "Look at me." He said, his voice stronger than before. She did as she was told then, meeting his stormy gray eyes with her azure blue ones. He didn't look angry at her, a refreshing change from the usual irritation he expressed in his features. Instead, he looked almost kind, as though he knew how he had been acting and felt guilty about it. At least, that was what she hoped he was feeling.

"I'll help with your furniture tonight. Margaery asked me earlier this morning, and I know that she and Bronn are free this evening," he said, his voice a soft growl, not like the harsh one she had memorized since the week before. His acceptance of the request took her by surprise, as well. She had thought he would not like to help her.

"Oh... Thank you! Thank you very much. Tonight? Ok, thank you. Do you know where I live?" She asked. Her words tumbled out of her mouth in a nervous stream.

"I'll drive you and Margaery and Bronn." His words sounded more like an order than a suggestion, so she nodded quickly.

"Sure. Thank you." She said again, a smile of success on her lips as she turned to leave the room. That had gone well, much better than she expected. She hadn't been fired at least. She rewarded him with one last timid smile before she left the room and went back to work. She might have been imagining it, but she thought she saw his mouth twitch into a smile too.

She worked hard until 5 p.m., motivated by the development in her and Sandor's relationship. Eventually, he came out from his office while pulling a jacket on. "Ready?" he asked. Quickly, she logged off and collected her belongings before nodding and following him. He walked straight past the elevator at first, and she watched him for a moment, puzzled, before he stopped walking and turned back. Taking a quick glance at her stilettos, he sighed. "You won't be wanting to walk down the stairs in them," He grunted, more to himself than her.

When they made it to the ground floor, Bronn and Margaery were already waiting for them at the desk. They were deep in conversation, so they must have been there for a little while, though she doubted they would mind. They enjoyed each other's company to say the least. As Margaery leant in to brush something from Bronn's arm, Sansa had to suppress a squeal from her internal matchmaker. When they caught sight of her and Sandor they walked towards them with a matching grin on the two of their faces. What did that look mean? She cast a suspicious look to Margaery, who raised her eyebrows as if confused at Sansa's expression, though the underlying smirk gave away the fact she wasn't imagining it.

"C'mon, let's build some furniture!" Bronn exclaimed, and together the four of them walked to Sandor's car. She had never seen his car before, but when she did she stood in a stunned silence for a good few seconds until Bronn nudged her. It was a yellow Mercedes with tinted windows, like something out of a movie. She wouldn't have expected something so flashy from her reserved boss.

"I was forced to buy it." Sandor explained with a shrug and an irritated glance to their two friends. Sansa had no idea what he meant by that, but knowing that it somehow wasn't his decision did explain the uncharacteristic style of the car. Bronn and Margaery hopped in eagerly, taking the back seats, and so Sansa was forced to sit in the front with her boss.

Sansa gave Sandor directions to the small flat abouta fifteen minute drive away from the office. Other than that, she remained silent, her awkward quiet matched by Sandor, while Margaery chatted away to Bronn in the backseat. Usually it would take about an hour to walk, and that was too far in heels, she had established earlier that week. Margaery squealed with excitement when she saw the place. Though it was nothing special, it was her home, and she had done her best so far to make it hers.

She led them up three flights of stairs, the elevator broken, and down the corridor to her apartment. She opened the door and waved her arm to invite everyone inside. Bronn tossed his suit jacket on the kitchen counter and rolled up his sleeves as the others followed him inside. Sansa shut the door behind them and turned to look at the room. She carefully tried to read each of their reactions to her small apartment, though if they were disappointed, they didn't let on. Margaery smiled as she twirled around in the centre of the room, though Sandor had his usual scowl imprinted on his features, which she found impossible to read.

Bronn clapped his hands as he looked at the masses of cardboard boxes containing the flat pack furniture. "Let's get started."


	9. Chapter 9

After playing the perfect hostess for years in King's Landing, she slipped readily back into the role, a whisper of nostalgia emerging through her mind as she handed her guests cans of beer, something she had bought a few days ago. It was only cheap, but it would suffice. Besides, nobody seemed disappointed with the drinks, followed by a brisk tour of the small apartment. The act of 'lady of the house' came surprisingly natural to her when she wasn't being forced into the role. While she was returning the six pack into the fridge, Margaery noticed a picture Sansa had torn out of a furniture magazine and stuck on the door. It was her dream bedroom, with pastel pink walls covered in painted vines and branches behind the headboard of the bed. Tiny lanterns adorned the borders of the ceiling, and the white weirwood furniture was identical to that she had bought. She Margaery pointed at the picture. "That's beautiful! Is that what your room's going to look like?" She asked, smiling.

"Yeah... I've always wanted a fairy tale style bedroom." She admitted, a half smile on her face as she shrugged. She didn't know why she was fascinated by stories like that, even now at her age. She wondered if it was because she never had a chance to be a child, always having to be responsible to take care of her younger siblings, or in the past few years just herself. Her mother had told her stories every night, from the more sadistic Grimm's fairy tales to her favorites; the legends they made folk songs from such as 'Florian and Jonquil,' and 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'.

Her reminiscing was interrupted when Sansa heard a scoff behind her and glanced around to see Sandor shaking his head. His gaze was fixed on her revealing something comparable to a mocking disappointment. She answered with a questioning look, partially to cover the pang of hurt she felt at his reaction, and partially from utter confusion. Did he not like the idea of fairy tales? Either way, what was it his business how she decorated her room? "That is adorable! I love that idea." Margaery said, glaring from the corner of her eye at Sandor as she took a sip of the beer.

A few minutes of chatty small talk later, Sansa excused herself to change from her pantsuit, and swiftly returned in a pair of jeans and a baggy shirt. Pausing in the doorway from her bedroom to the living room, she looked at the scene in front of her and smiled. Margaery had already adopted the role of group leader, and was bossing Bronn and Sandor around as she pointed to something and ordered them to fetch it to her. Sansa walked over the myriads of plastic and polystyrene that littered the floor and started to help Margaery. She was only able to reach down to pick something up before she was stopped.

"No, no. I think this would work better if you and Sandor started to assemble the dresser in your room, and Bronn and I work on the table. You see, that way it will get finished quickly." Margaery said with a coy smile and a raised eyebrow. Sansa instantly felt her heart tense. She gave her friends a pleading stare, silently begging her to change the arrangement, but it was too late. She had already bounded off to join Bronn, long brunette curls bouncing behind her as she abandoned Sansa and Sandor in an uncomfortable silence. With a nervous sigh, she raised her eyes to glance at her unwilling companion from the corner of her eye.

He had shed his jacket, and it struck her that that was the first time she had seen him with just a shirt to cover his upper body. His shoulders looked somehow broader now she had a good view of them, the contours of his muscles were visible through the thin black fabric of his top. He would possibly be very attractive if it weren't for his burns, though not in the way she was used to. Where Joffrey had had shining, blond hair, Sandor's was thin, long and unkempt, only covering the unburnt side of his head. Where Joffrey had been clean shaven, Sandor had thick stubble, making his jaw look sharper. Where Joffrey was thin and only a little taller than her, Sandor was... well, huge, with broad shoulders, thick muscles and at least a foot of height difference between the two of them. It was obvious he worked out. He was rugged, a welcome change from she had known in King's Landing had aimed to be preening and pathetic like her ex. Sandor's sleeves were rolled up, exposing some more burns, though none as severe as that on his face. A tattoo of three running dogs concealed some of the pink scarring. It was the same emblem that had been embroidered on his shirt at their first encounter, and that the company logo seemed to be fashioned from. She wondered for a moment what it could mean.

The sounds of him clearing his throat pulled her out of her reverie. Wait, had she just been checking him out? And had he noticed? Her cheeks flushed scarlet as she averted her eyes to the floor.

"Yeah, the dresser is in the bedroom..." She turned and led him to the small room, where a few more boxes rested against the walls. She gestured to them and he ripped them open, revealing the white furniture she had bought. He chucked the instructions behind him, and started to remove the largest pieces from the box with ease, though it was a huge plank of solid wood. She watched him in awe for a moment before she caught herself and instantly stopped. For the most part he was silent, and so was she.

"A fairy tale bedroom?" He scoffed quietly a few minutes into the furniture building. "I suppose you believe that all the knights rescue the pretty maidens from the evil beast, and all that?" Sansa didn't know whether it was a rhetorical question or not, but she felt something similar to offense rooting in her chest. She had not had a knight to rescue her; she had had to do that all by herself.

"I used to believe that;, I won't deny it. Not anymore, though. I've grown up," she stated as she picked up the instructions from the floor and inspected at the first page, comparing some wooden pegs to that in the diagram. She sat down beside him as she started to put the pegs into small holes in the side of the dresser.

"Grown up? You can't be much older than twenty," he rasped skeptically as he flipped a few pages in the manual and started building a drawer.

"No, I'm twenty-three. That doesn't mean I haven't had to grow up, though," she said, keeping her gaze on her work. She didn't want to give too much away about her former life, but she felt a duty to defend herself. True enough, she had been full of hopes and dreams about knights and princes when she was fourteen, having just moved to King's Landing with her father and sister, but those had quickly evaporated after her father's death. She had known the Lannisters were responsible, but she had no power to speak up there. Her sister had disappeared, likely dead, and after that she Sansa had forced herself to stop dreaming. She hadn't believed in someone saving her since then. Nobody had saved her but herself.

"Twenty-three? And you decide to move to a new city with no family or friends?" He asked, and looked up at her. A few strands of dark hair fell in his face, making him look even more rugged. She cleared her throat to get the thought out of her mind. She was just being a silly little girl once again.

"Yes, I did. I felt it was time for a change." That was to say the least, she added silently.

Sandor stared at her for a moment, skepticism clear in his gaze, and she returned it with a determined, stubborn look of her own. She knew he knew there was more to it than that, but thankfully he dropped the subject then.

They continued mostly in silence, broken up by brief exchanges as they helped each other assemble the dresser. The muffled laughter and conversation of their two friends were easily heard through the open door of her bedroom, and she smiled at the thought of setting them up one day.

A couple of hours later and the dresser and bed were both assembled, with surprisingly few comments from Sandor at the choice of her superstitious weirwood furniture and fairy lamps. Bronn and Margaery came into the small room when they were just finishing.

"We were thinking about ordering a pizza. You guys want some?" Margaery asked, leaning her head against the doorframe. She wondered how many beers the pair of them had had, but judging by the tipsy smile on her friend's face, she would estimate a good few.

"Sure, sounds great!" She said enthusiastically. Sandor grunted his approval at the idea, which Margaery returned with a giggle.

"How have you guys been getting on?" She asked with a sly grin and a raised eyebrow. Neither Sandor nor Sansa answered, just apprehensively met each other's eye with a mirrored look of annoyance. It was fairly obvious to both of them that Margaery had a plan; Sandor rolled his eyes as they were rewarded with another giggle.

An hour later, the pizza had arrived and they were all sat at the newly assembled table, dishing out the meal. Sansa nibbled at the greasy food with a smile of bliss on her lips, indulging in the flavor of cheese and tomato. It had been too long since she had allowed herself to indulge in pizza. She had gotten used to being cooked for in King's Landing, and no doubt Cersei would have murdered her if she caught her eating something so unhealthy.

She helped herself to another beer, and so did Sandor, Bronn and Margaery. By the end of the meal, the two six packs were finished. Sandor and Bronn were seemingly unaffected by the alcohol, but tiny Margaery seemed quite drunk after four beers. She grinned as she helped her friend stand and called a taxi company to take the three of them home.

"Do you want us to come back one day to paint?" Bronn offered, taking Margaery out of Sansa's arms and allowing her to rest against his broad frame.

"Are you sure? I feel bad enough stealing you all for one evening!" She admitted, though honestly she could have used the assistance.

"Sure, you don't mind, do you, Sandor?" Margaery added, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. That elicited a harsh grunt, followed by a strained 'No, it's fine'. Sansa smiled and thanked them all again, opening the door for them. Margaery kissed her cheek as she left while Bronn patted her lightly on the shoulder. She met Sandor's eyes nervously as he walked past her. His gaze had something in it that frightened and enticed her at the same time, though she had no clue what it was. She bit her lip after thanking him shyly, and he nodded politely before following his two friends out of the door. Exhaling the breath she hadn't known she was holding, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it. Her emotions were everywhere, it seemed. She had been frightened, then confused, and to top it all off she had checked out her boss! Gods, what had gotten into her?

She sighed again as she shook the confusion out of her mind. It was probably just the alcohol, she told herself. She took herself to the small but clean bathroom and showered, letting the emotions run down the drain with the lemony soap suds until she felt relaxed once again. A smile spread across her face as she dived onto the newly made bed, leaving the plastic and cardboard littered over the floor. That could be cleaned up the next day, she told herself before she drifted off into a peaceful, comfortable sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Sandor muttered curses to himself as he stormed into work. Over a week had passed since Margaery, Bronn, and himself had assembled his assistant's furniture, and since then little had changed between his and Sansa's awkward relationship. It was obvious she had tried to prize him close to her, draw him out of his hard shell, but he had flat out refused. Others had tried and failed, and he wouldn't let this one be any different. He had no need in his life for whining, needy girls, and he had tried all his life to get away from them. There had been only one slip up from his otherwise foolproof plan to stay away from long-term commitments to women, and that slip up was Sansa. As she was his secretary, there was no getting away from her. He was not to blame for this, of course, and he supposed that neither was she. Instead, he took out his anger on Bronn, who didn't seem to care as much as Sandor would have perhaps liked. Apart from the occasional one night stand, he had never let himself get close to a girl. He had never wanted to. Today, however, was different.  
Drinking with his only two friends last night had gone a little too far, he had to admit, and his pounding headache was not the only thing had made him regret his decision to drown his worries. Margaery had forced him into a promise that in his drunken stupor had seemed like a good idea, though reflecting on it that morning had made him groan with frustration at himself. He had promised to propose a date to the girl.  
The girl that was way out of his league, he might add. The girl with the river of flaming red hair that streamed down to her slim waist, absurdly large blue eyes, and the figure of a ballerina. The same girl who had gaped at him for a never endingnever-ending minute from fright of his face. And now he was supposed to ask her out? A grimace tugged at his scarred features.  
Margaery had talked him through the plan:, to invite himself over to help her paint the apartment , and afterwards offer to take her out to dinner. It had seemed like the perfect idea the day before, but now all he felt for the absurd plan was regret. Grunting in annoyance and irritation as he made his way up the stairs to his office floor, he cursed a final time under his breath before skulking through his open plan, previously masculine lobby. The uninvited feminine touches had crept their way into his Sspartan workplace. The perfume had been the start of it. The whole place smelled citrusy, like lemons or something. A vase of flowers on her desk was the next step. Not to mention the most feminine thing of them all. Her.  
She sat at her desk, posture perfect posture as always, her back straight and long legs crossed under the desk. He caught a glimpse of the tight, but smart, dress she wore, leaving her neverending infinite legs bare. What women wore was of little consequence to him before she barged her way into his previously formerly comfortable life. All he was supposed to notice, if anything at all, was if they looked nice or not. But the little purple dress she wore accentuated her curves, made her waist impossibly small and her legs impossibly long, and complimented perfectly the womanly shape of her breasts and hips. When he met her face he noticed she had done her makeup differently. It was darker around her eyes and her lips were pale pink. Personally, he wanted to see her with no makeup on, but he couldn't deny that she looked bloody perfect, as she always did.  
Gods, what had gotten into him? Acting like a bloody romantic green boy when he was around her was what. He frowned in an attempt to regain some of his manliness.  
Catching her eyes again, he noticed that her smile had faded a little, probably because of his expression, but it quickly perked up again as she tried to remain happy and chirpy, as she always was.  
"Mr. Clegane, you have a meeting today at two 2pm, and another at four4. Barristan Selmy phoned to ask you about the contract, and I told him you would call him back, but that's all." She gushed out. Her , voice was like a river, liquid and bubbly, and her eyes large and expecting as she waited for his response.  
"Fine." He muttered. When should he ask her? Now? Later? He sighed and stormed into his office to think about it, leaving Sansa behind him, staring disheartened at the spot where he had stood. A pang of something ached in his chest. Perhaps it was pity or regret at the way he had spoken to her, but whatever it was, the feeling had grown more and more common in him since he had met the girl. She was doing something to him, making him feel things he didn't want to feel. He despised and admired her equally for it.  
It was notasn't that he didn't want to be with her. He knew that much from the dreams that haunted his mind at night. Her face like was a ghost in his brain that refused to leave. It was merely the obvious fact that it, the two of themy, would never happen.  
His mind in turmoil, he decided to get his head down and work, which he managed to do for the rest of the day, not even stopping for lunch depsite despite his growling stomach. The last thing he wanted was to go back out there with the distraction of her when he needed time to think about what he was going to say. The two meetings flew by, and at five 5pm he decided he couldn't put it off any longer. He needed to get it over and done with or he would never stop thinking about it. He picked up his jacket from the coat stand and inspected himself in his reflection in the window. Why, he didn't know. In the miracle that she had managed to look past the mess that his face was, she probably wouldn't mind if his shirt waswere crumbled. Hopelessly, he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tracing the scarred skin of his face as a reminder not to get his hopes up. He straightened his spine, making himself even taller than he already was. "Get it over with, you bastard." He grunted and forced his reluctant body to turn around to open the door.  
Upon meeting her surprised face, eyes wide in the innocence and naivitynaivety he wished he still had, he felt his confidence recede inside of him. His stomach churned uncomfortably with nerves he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.  
"Are you going home?" She asked, her voice irritatingly polite and sweet. So irritating, in fact, that he found it endearing. She was a child sometimes. A child in a woman's body, filled with fairytales and handsome knights. 'Fuck it. Spit it out!' He growled internally.  
"No..." He paused as he considered how to phrase his words. "Do you still need your apartment paintingpainted?" He asked. His question was a curt rasp, ruder than he had intended, though she didn't seem to mind. Perhaps she was used to it by now.  
"Umm... Yeah, I do." She offered a smile, though he did not return it. At the most, his mouth twitched slightly.  
"Good. I'm coming over, then." He told her. Gods, he sounded fucking rude. Oh well. He was helping her after all. She would be grateful no matter how he sounded.  
"Now? Oh... Okay. Just you, or are Margaery and Bronn coming over too?" She asked, her voice a fluster as she started to gather her things with fluttering hands as light as birds' wings.  
"Just me." He informed her. Then the surprise was obvious. She faltered as she picked up her phone and put it in her purse, but she nodded slowly anyway. Good, he thought. At least that part was out of the way. Looking up to his face, she tried another nervous smile, to which he rolled his eyes and took her by the elbow, as gently as he could, and pulled her towards the elevator.  
The thirty second or so journey from the penthouse floor to the ground was unpunctuated by awkward conversation, to his great relief. When they reached their destination, in a sudden wave of courage he was bold enough to put his hand on her waist. He glanced down at her when he heard a sharp intake of breath, and saw that her cheeks had become pink. He judged from the fact that she didn't pull away that she didn't mind the gesture too much. A smug grin pulled on the corners of his mouth as he noted his hand spanned near enough the entire of the small of her back.  
"Hiya!" Margaery called from her desk, slyness lurking beneath her seemingly pleasant smile. She was the only one around who could see them, again filling him with relief. The last thing he wanted was his employees gossiping about him. Sansa, seemingly oblivious to her friend's motives, replied with a quick 'hello' before she was jerked away by her boss, who pulled her through the doors to the outside.  
His car, bright yellow, was at the far side of the parking lot, hidden from the prying eyes of the public. He didn't like to make it obvious that he was the one driving the Gods-be-damned car. He opened the door for her, playing the gentleman for some unfathomable reason, and then walked around to the driver's side. Here it is, he thought. His first real date.

Sansa  
Sansa's days had passed in a blur of sorting out her finances, buying even more furniture to add to her apartment, which became more and more homely each day, and work. Work, of course, being simulatanouslysimultaneously the most challenging and the most time consuming. Her boss' attitude towards her hadn't changed much. He might have been a little more courteous to her occasionally, but for the most part his ever permanent scowl remained on his features. She found herself more and more desperate for his approval, to her great annoyance.  
Her and Margaery's friendship, on the contrary, had come in leaps and bounds to the point that they were now quite close. It struck her one evening when she was at her friend's house that she was possibly the best friend she had ever had, and they had only known each other a matter of weeks.  
"So, Sansa. Tell me everything." Margaery had said to her that evening. Sansa had been complaining about Sandor's attitude to her, despite her offer of the olive branch. She had no idea why she was so bothered about it, after all, all she did was work for him. There was no need for the two of them to be bosom buddies, and yet that was what she found herself wanting. His scars were barely visible to her anymore. In fact, he was quite handsome when she looked at him properly. He had a sharp jawline, stormy eyes and he was... well, a man. More than Joffrey had ever been. She had grown accustomed to his fearsome features and now wanted to know who he truly was behind the constant anger he expressed.  
"I don't know what to say..." She replied, face in her hands in despair. "I don't know why he hates me so much. I've tried to be kind, and yet he pushes me away all the time."  
"Sweetie, that's just how he is. Even to Bronn and they've known each other forever." Margaery said over a glass of wine.  
"I know, but still. I think he's still upset about the way I stared at him the first time I met him. I have apologized, but I don't think he accepted it." She took a sip of her own dark red, hoping it would cure some of the regret she felt.  
"He'll get over it. He's a man, after all." She said, grinning with something hidden in her eyes. Sansa wondered what her friend was implying, but before she had a chance to think it over, Margaery was speaking once again. "If you're that bothered about it, I'll speak to him, push some sense into that thick head." She teased, forcing a giggle from Sansa.  
Nothing had changed since that evening, though. He was still the precensepresence of stormy anger in the otherwise peaceful office, slammed doors in her face and the ever- lasting frown that made him scare her her scared all over again. Or so she thought. That afternoon, she was rewarded with the most unexpected of gestures.  
"Do you still need your apartment paintingpainted?" hHe had asked. At first she thought she had misheard him. A thousand questions ran through her mind:; Why would he offer? Was he being kind or was she misunderstanding him? Was this him Sandor taking her olive branch, accepting her friendship? His face gave nothing away, though she was surprised his eyes were actually meeting hers. Something was hidden in them. Something like vulnerability, which didn't quite match the rest of his physical appearance. Blue eyes met gray as she accepted his offer, smiling graciously despite the endless confusion in her mind.  
Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his warm hand at her waist. A tingle went through her spine, one of surprise, she tried to convince herself, though her reddened cheeks suggested otherwise. She couldn't help but notice the look in her friend's eyes as together her and Sandor passed the lobby of the building. Something sparkled in the green of them that made her wonder what her friend was up to, but she didn't have time to question it as Sandor swept her through the doors and towards the parking lot, where his flashy yellow car awaited them.


End file.
